


Lover of the Truth

by MissisPongo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Secret Marriage, might be hintings at smut, not smutty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4946422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissisPongo/pseuds/MissisPongo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if.</p>
<p>What if Mike Stamford never introduced John to Sherlock?<br/>What if Sherlock and John met; but under different circumstances?<br/>What if those circumstances lead to marriage?</p>
<p>The team at Scotland Yard never really cared much about Sherlock. Sure, they'd take time out of their day to say "freak", but no-one bothered to actually get to know him. One day, Lestrade decided that that needed to change - but what they'd find out may lead to the discovery of a completely different side of Sherlock that not even his brother knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where it All Began

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a random thought-noodle that I decided to write down. I came across a few 'secret marriage' fics and I actually quite enjoyed them! Please comment and tell me what you think! Oh; there will be swearing, and I haven't got a beta. At least I'm British so I don't have to have a Britpicker, I guess.

"I'm looking for a flatmate."

 _Huh, what a coincidence._ Mike thought, smiling slightly at his old friend. _Two people have said that to me today._ "Hopefully the search goes well." he responded, looking around rather awkwardly as the conversation stilled. "Hey, there's this guy who... Well I'm not sure you'd like him." he waved off his comment, but seemed to wave his coffee around a bit too much, considering that some of the hot brown liquid splashed out and onto his hand. "Shit!" Mike swore. "Sorry John - got to run and clean up. I'll call you at some point and we can catch up properly." Mike stammered out before running off.

 

\---------------------

 

"What am I meant to do? I haven't been in London for... well ages. Everything's changed, Harry."

John was on the phone to his sister for the first time in years. He really didn't want to talk to her, considering that the probability of Harry picking up the phone drunk was a bit too high for John's liking. But hey, at least she was sober this time. Though the sound of a bottle being knocked over as she answered the phone wasn't too reassuring.

"Hey Johnny, why don't you visit that nerd hospital you used to go to?" Harry replied with amusement clear in her voice.

"Barts?"

"Yeah! That's it! You never shut up about that bloody hospital; you drove mum insane." she snorted.

"No I - well okay maybe I did, but I'm not sure they'd want me to return. I wasn't exactly very popular." he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Harry scoffed loudly. "Well  _duh!_  You were really smart though. Annoyingly smart. Even the professors hated you."

"No they didn't!" John replied defensively.

"Oh yeah they super hated you. Remember when I hooked up with your hot classmate? She told me that all the teachers had a nickname for you."

"Well, that doesn't matter - going to visit St. Barts is a great idea. Thanks Harry."

"No problem. Remember to visit me soon, dumbo!"

John laughed. "Will do!"

 

_________________________________

 

"H-Hello, Mr. Watson?" A young woman of about 30 approached John, clutching a clipboard to her chest. "My name is Molly, and I'll be taking you for your tour today." she informed him, thrusting her hand out. "Hello Molly; please call me John." the ex-army doctor replied with a (dazzling) smile. "If I'm honest, I don't really need a tour. I used to study here before I joined the army. But they insisted, and I appreciate the company." John rambled slightly as they started on their way around the hospital.

"You used to study here? I did too! Except I never left." she responded, ending her sentence with a nervous laugh.

"I have a feeling I'm a bit before your time." John replied, grinning at Molly.

 

_________________________________

 

Half an hour later, John and Molly had almost completed their tour. "-and that's how I won the school talent contest!" Molly finished, her face flushing as John laughed at her anecdote. "Really? Wow, wish I thought of that!" he replied in between laughs.

"Erm, John... Do you-Could we maybe go out for-"

" **MOLLY.** " A booming voice from inside one of the labs called out. The young scientist seemed to visibly sag after hearing the call, and reluctantly opened the door to reveal a handsome young man in a suit, bent over a microscope. The mysterious man looked up to reveal a pair of striking blue eyes. "Ah, Molly. It  _was_ your stuttering I heard. Hand me your phone, please." he held his hand out and resumed his work.

"Ah! W-Well I would, but it's out of charge." she stammered nervously, flinching as though she was bracing for an attack.

"Here, borrow mine." John volunteered, reaching into his coat pocket and placing his phone into the stranger's hand. Which, upon reflection, probably wasn't the smartest move.

The man looked up and made eye contact with John. With lightning meeting cobalt, he responded: "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

 

And that's how it started.


	2. Letting the Proverbial Cat out of the Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have been married for three years at this point. Sherlock was intending to tell the Scotland Yarders about his husband, but he thought they would have figured it out by now. It changed from a simple "I'm unsure of their reactions and don't want to rush" kind of situation to a bet between John and Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I'm very much a spur of the moment person. The quicker I get this story out of my brain, the better. Otherwise I'll get bored of writing. If I ever do drop it out of boredom, feel free to annoy and poke me as much as possible and I should pick it up again pretty sharp-ish.

"30 year-old woman, down from Edinburgh for two - no,  _three_ weeks. Intending to break up with her online lover before her husband finds out; he didn't take it well. Now he's on the run with a suitcase containing her jewelry, and she's dead on the floor with a letter-opener in her chest." Sherlock concluded yet another of Scotland Yard's pityingly simple cases that they didn't seem to be able to solve.

Truth be told, Sherlock didn't particularly want to work that day - it was his and John's 3-year anniversary, and he fully intended to spend the entire day at home. Sadly, Lestrade called him up with a case that sounded like an 8 (it was actually the equivalent of a 5); and after nearly 2 weeks without a murder, John almost shoved him out the door. He couldn't exactly tell the yard no either... They fully expected him to take this case and with his and John's bet still fully under way, he couldn't risk losing.

_______________________

"I bet you £150 that the yard will find out within 6 months."

"Really, John? Betting? Have you lowered your standards that much?" Sherlock and John were eating their Chinese takeaway at 221B when their marriage came into the conversation. "Plus there is absolutely no way that those cretins would find out in less than four years." Sherlock snorted, his eyes not moving from the television screen - apparently spoiling John's favourite soaps was more important than their pledge to support each other for life. "Oh yeah?" John put down his fork with a smile on his face, turning to face his new husband. "Are you willing to bet some money on that?" he challenged Sherlock, grinning cheekily.

"You know what? Okay, John, I'll take your bet. The game is on." Sherlock turned his head to look at his spouse, holding his hand out for John to shake, all the while smirking.

_______________________

" **Lestrade!** I lost something and I need you to tell me what was left on the crime scene!" Sherlock demanded, grabbing the Detective Inspector's upper arm as he tried to leave the room. "Okay, what did you lose?" Lestrade sighed, tugging his arm free and placing it on his hip. "If it's that bloody hat again, you'll have to ask Anderson to get it." he warned, pointing a threatening finger in the taller man's face. Sherlock scowled at him and swatted his hand away. "Lestrade the object I lost is much more important than that stupid death frisbee. What I lost is a," Sherlock sighed "a wedding ring. My wedding ring, to be exact."

"A... Wedding ring.  _Your_ wedding ring." Lestrade raised his eyebrow, crossing his arms. "You know, Sherlock, I can give you the ring we found on-site if you need it for evidence. Just don't lie to us; we're expecting you to be telling the truth." he sighed, leading Sherlock to the evidence locker. "Here you go. Remember - we don't know much about you. But we trust you with our cases. That might change if we find out you've been lying." Lestrade lectured before - reluctantly - dropping the clear bag containing the shining gold ring into Sherlock's open palm.

_______________________

"I'm telling you John, they were so ignorant! I told them it was my wedding ring and they completely ignored it." Sherlock shouted one evening, gesticulating wildly as John sat opposite him. "You know why this happened? It happened because the universe is trying to make you tell them." John responded, looking up from his blog post with a smile. His smile faltered, however, when Sherlock looked at him with a pointed glare. "I'm being serious, Sherlock. You never wear your ring to work; yet the one time you do, you lose it and have to ask for the Yarders help. If they weren't so clueless when it came to you, I'm sure they would have figured it out. The universe wants you to tell!" John finished passionately, abandoning his blog post so he could argue his case. "That's me being careless, John." Sherlock snorted, turning his back to his husband.

"Yes, Sherlock, yes it is." He sighed, his gaze lingering on his detective flatmate's sulky form before returning to his work.


	3. Lestrade makes a decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade has decided that the team should get to know Sherlock. They have absolutely no idea where to start, but in true Scotland Yard fashion, they decide to raid his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The paragraphs were a bit choppy on the other two chapters merely because it was easier to show where one memory ended and another began, but they should be a bit longer and flow better now.

It was a pleasant Friday morning, and there had been no difficult murders for three days - which in turn meant no Sherlock for three days. "I'm glad we haven't had to call freak in. It's like a holiday." Sally sniggered, swiveling around on her chair. "Best holiday I've had in a while, actually." she ended, turning to face her colleagues completely. Anderson looked over from his desk and snorted. "Sally's right. I've never had so much peace and quiet." he stretched, standing up to fetch a coffee from the break room.

"Sorry, seems the break is over. Woman, found dead with one hand on the windowsill. Perfume contained mercury which entered her bloodstream via a cut on the back of her hand. This is at least a seven; Sherlock will insist to help out." Lestrade sighed, turning to face his disgruntled team. "I'll ring him now." he punched in the numbers on his phone and held it up to his ear. "Hey Sherlock- what do you mean? Are you sure? Well, okay. Yeah, see you soon." Lestrade placed the phone back in his pocket and raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Did the freak just turn down a case?" Anderson asked, confused and still frozen in the doorway to the break room.

"Oh no! What's he going to wank to tonight?" Sally mocked a concerned tone as she tapped on her keyboard, no longer interested. "He'll have to look at old corpses. Shame." she tutted, looking over to Lestrade. "We hardly know anything about the freak, but he knows everything about us. I think we should check out his desk and see what he has in there." she suggested, pointing towards the detective's desk that he was given after his landlord complained about 'papers cluttering the place up'. "Are you mad? He'd have our heads for snooping through his stuff." Lestrade replied, outraged at the mere suggestion of rifling through someone's personal possessions.

The room went quiet for a minute, Sally and Anderson made eye contact for a second before they both leapt towards the desk. "Stop that!" Greg shouted, running a hand through his hair. "What's that?" Lestrade asked, curiosity replacing anger. Sally opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a small wooden box, looking at it suspiciously before handing it over to her superior officer. "I'm guessing it contains some kind of personal object, but it's not got a lock so surely it can't be that personal." he tried to think of a reason to open this box; he knew he shouldn't, but when it's Sherlock it's hard to resist.

Much to the surprise of the Yard team, nothing exploded when the box was opened. In fact, pretty much nothing happened at all - all the box contained was a few pictures and a ring. The ring, whilst pretty and expensive-looking, wasn't what the Yarders were so captivated by; the pictures appeared to show details of Sherlock's life that they never knew existed. The earliest example was a picture of a stubborn-faced toddler with a mess of brown hair who didn't look too pleased to have his picture taken; it was very obvious who the subject of the photo is. Holding into the little boy's shoulder is a boy of about 11, but with his neat hairstyle and expensive suit, he could quite easily be mistaken for a very short middle-aged man. The next picture showed the same duo except with a dog sitting at their feet. The stubborn-faced toddler had grown up into an equally stubborn-faced 10 year old, it appeared. Yet the older boy (Lestrade identified him as 'Mycroft') was smiling this time, an arm draped around the stiff shoulders of his little brother.

"These don't surprise me. Moody posh kids becoming moody posh adults. Why'd he keep them here?" Sally questioned, throwing the pictures onto the table.

"Maybe he was sick of seeing them at his apartment." Anderson suggested.

"Hang on, there's one more."

This last photo was much more recent; two, three years old maybe. "Is that a wedding photo? Is the freak married?!" Sally screeched. "Who would marry him?"

"Apparently that bloke." Anderson replied, pointing to the picture.

"Well, maybe he was the best man for someone else's wedding." Lestrade suggested, not quite believing his own theory.

"Then why is there a ring?" Sally scoffed, holding up the shiny silver band.

Lestrade didn't quite know how to respond. He'd like to say that Sherlock would have told him if he was married, but the evidence suggested otherwise. How would he get the truth out of Sherlock?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not updating! I got sidetracked by my GCSEs, haha. I'll try and upload a couple chapters now, just to make up for lost time. Also I became WWE trash. Don't even.

As it turns out, Lestrade didn't need to worry about confronting Sherlock. He should have known, really, that Sally couldn't keep her mouth shut - not when she'd just been told such a big secret.

"Sally! Sally; no! We can't barge into Sherlock's flat and shout at him. He'd be appalled if we even thought about touching his desk, let alone rifle through it." Anderson screeched - even if he did want to confront Sherlock more than anything else, thinking of his every thought and feeling being deduced for everyone to know was terrifying. He deleted his internet history for a reason, after all. "Okay then, how about a drugs bust?" Sally compromised, still waving around the photograph.

"Drugs bust? Has Sherlock been injecting again?" Lestrade butted in. "If so, we should try and keep on the down low and get more infor-"

"Of course he hasn't been injecting again!" Sally shushed him, putting her hands on her hips. "It's a good enough excuse for us to go and check out his flat though." the large-haired woman whispered, as if Sherlock could somehow hear her scheming. "There's no way I'm helping you with this. No way." Lestrade pointed at them as if they had called him a wrinkled twat, turning his back on them.

\---------------------------------------

"Why am I helping you with this?" Lestrade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. They had just arrived in Baker street, Anderson and Donovan jumping out of the cab and banging hard on the large, black door. A young man of about 35 opened the door, his mousy brown hair sticking up as if he'd just woken up. "Can I help you?" he asked, brows furrowing in confusion. "Er, yes. I'm sergeant Donovan and I'm with Scotland Yard. Is this the residence of Sherlock Holmes?" she asked innocently. Lestrade wondered how great of an actress she could have been.

"Yes, it is." the man answered, he had moved so he was standing in front of the door. It became apparent to the Yarders just how short he was, his stature rendering him almost adorable compared to Sherlock's long, pale, cold body. "And who would you be?" Anderson asked cautiously, making sure to appear just as ignorant as Donovan so as not to arouse suspicion. "My name is John Watson-Holmes. I'm his husband." John replied, his face breaking out in a grin that confused the Yarders. "Would you like to come in? He's just upstairs." John opened the door for them, still smiling.

"Uh, well this is a drugs bust." Donovan rubbed the back of her neck guiltily, feeling sorry for John. He'd only just met them and they were accusing his husband of hoarding drugs. Anderson swallowed audibly as John's smile dropped, his eyes hardening as he turned to face them properly. "Drugs? Why would you think that? Jesus,  _Sherlock!"_ John called up the stairs, his bellowing voice scaring the Yarders; it's not everyday you hear a voice that big come out of a person that small. " _What?_ John, I'm trying to enjoy my day off-" Sherlock cut himself off as he walked down the stairs, for the first time noticing the guests at their door.

"Drugs, Sherlock? Really? After Mycroft spent all that money trying to set you straight?" John crossed his arms over his chest, looking disappointed in his spouse.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock responded quietly, trying to make eye contact with each member of Scotland Yard. "What drugs? Lestrade?" he asked, walking down the last stairs to join his husband. "We have been led to believe that you are harboring drugs in your f-flat." Lestrade repeated the sentence he'd had to say millions of times over the years, cursing himself when he stuttered at the end. "Really, so it's not a petty excuse to question me about my life?" Sherlock smirked as Greg went bright red, looking at his shoes and praying that Sherlock didn't notice. Which he did, obviously. The aforementioned detective shook his head slightly before bounding up the stairs to his flat.

"Well, come in then." John sighed reluctantly, gesturing for Scotland Yard to enter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The yarders get the full story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M A SHIT PERSON SORRY. I got back into k-pop, kinda dropped out of sherlock but I'm BACK! Not for long probably, but long enough to write a few chapters more I imagine.

"Right, before we get into things, drugs. Yes or no?" John asked, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to look intimidating. Sadly, as any man under 5'7 can attest, it didn't work. "No drugs." Lestrade sighed, looking at the cup of tea currently being cradled in his lap. "Well, not that we know of, anyway." he looked up to make eye contact with a pissed off Sherlock. "You think I'm that stupid, Gordon?" Sherlock scoffed, almost knocking over his coffee in his anger.

John took this time to look around the room. What with Sherlock's anti-social tendencies and his own lack of social graces, they never really had anyone over. The flat wasn't really big enough for it; what with all the books and various human/animal limbs and organs lying around in jars (and without jars, in some particularly disgusting cases), the floor space had been drastically cut down. After he snapped out of his thoughts, John realised that no-one had spoken for a few minutes, the awkward silence laying over the room like a blanket. He sent a pointed glare at Sherlock to break the silence, but was met with an equally steely gaze. Why did he agree to marry Sherlock again?

"So, if it isn't drugs, why are you here?" John said bluntly, shaking everyone out of their thoughts. Sally jerked upwards, Anderson accidentally kicked the table and Lestrade almost spilt his boiling hot cup of tea all over his no-no zone. "Sherlock has been acting weirdly lately, and we wanted to check and see if everything was alright." Sally said smoothly, as if she wasn't being stared down by the equivalent of an annoyed hobbit. "I reject 2 cases and accidentally drop something and suddenly that makes it morally okay to raid my desk and interrupt me on my day off?" Sherlock practically growls, sarcasm lacing every word. He ran his hand through his unruly brown hair, sending Lestrade a disappointed look. "I'd expect this silly behaviour from  _them,_ " he points coldly towards Anderson and Sally, "but really Lestrade? I thought you of all people would understand respecting someone's love life. How's your wife by the way? Still fucking the milkman?" Sherlock snarls, jumping up from his chair.

" _Sherlock!_ "John warns, putting his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gently pushing him back into his chair. John glances at Lestrade's face, worried that his husband's words may have cut deeper than he thought. However, if anything, he looked even guiltier, obviously feeling bad for snooping through the detective's personal objects. "Why didn't you tell us?" Anderson asked in a small voice, and to be honest, John had forgotten that he was even in the room. Anderson was sitting quietly, squished between the arm of their sofa and Sally Donovan. He was looking down at his knees, reminding John of a child that got told off for starting a fight at school. "We wouldn't mind you being gay, or getting married to a man. Why didn't you tell us?" Anderson repeated, sounding a bit more daring this time; confidence that he lost almost immediately as he met Sherlock's scrutinising glare.

"Fine, I'll tell you the story. You had better listen - I don't like repeating myself."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What actually happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoyoyo, second chapter in a day! This is rare - but because I'm about to do GCSE mocks, it's better to get this shit out of my system before I have to start revising. Oh, Sherlock is going to be a bit more suave than usual, but he should be normal otherwise. I dunno yet.

_"Wow, that's amazing! How did you know?" John gaped at the ~~tall, dark, handsome~~ stranger in wonder and amazement. Molly was standing in the doorway, looking slightly jealous and underwhelmed considering this strange man had just recounted John's life story without even faltering. "Deduction." The man said in lieu of an answer, which only really served to make John more confused. "So, you guessed?" he asked uncertainly, clutching his phone tightly. Barts had definitely changed a bit over time. "Educated guesses." the man smiled at John - a small, sly, smirk that implied he knew something that John didn't, and after that display he just put on, that was entirely possible._

_"Well it was very nice meeting you, mister..."_

_"Holmes. But you can call me Sherlock." Sherlock winked; an action that shouldn't have affected John as much as it did. "It's been nice meeting you, Sherlock. But I have to get back to my tour now." John said, regretting it almost immediately. Even if he had been the one who called up and requested to visit, Sherlock was ten times more interesting than walking down clinical corridors, looking into labs that were almost carbon copies of each other. "Tour?" Sherlock frowned, before looking up at the doorway. "Oh, hello Molly. When did you come in?" he asked, looking genuinely confused as if he hadn't noticed her presence for the last 15 minutes. John turned to look back at Molly, only to notice that she'd gone bright red. If you want more detail, imagine a tomato with a brown ponytail._

_"Molly, I think your tourist here should sit down for a minute." Sherlock said, turning back to his microscope as if he had lost all interest in the conversation. In response, Molly opened her mouth to retaliate, but seemed to decide against it and instead resigned to her task of finding John a chair. "Thanks for your concern, but I don't think I need a chair." John stammered slightly, feeling bad that he had dragged Molly out of her work to give him a tour only to have her treated like a servant. "Well, I don't have any intentions of letting you stand around watching me." Sherlock snorted slightly, turning the dials on the microscope slightly as he spoke. "Now, do you intend to tell me your name? Or were you hoping that I'd deduce that too?" Sherlock shot John an amused smile, letting out a deep chuckle when John turned red and started to get flustered._

_"It's John Watson. But you can call me John." he stuttered, feeling ashamed of how meek he sounded. "John Holmes has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Sherlock looked up and some strange combination of the deep voice and piercing, crystalline blue eyes had John mesmerised. "Yes, I suppose it does, doesn't it?" John replied, in a daze from the sudden flirtatious tone that Sherlock's voice had taken. "How does deducing work?" the doctor asked, feeling slightly stupid for having to ask but curious none the less._

_And then that smirk was back._

_"I can explain it to you over dinner, if you'd like."_


End file.
